


Delicate Relations

by whopooh



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Attempted Awkward Phryne, F/M, Happy Birthday, Post S3E8, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/pseuds/whopooh
Summary: Phryne is in Southampton to greet Jack, but she is not alone.Happy birthday, olderbynow!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [olderbynow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olderbynow/gifts).



> There is something so fun and special with olderbynow’s way of writing. She’s like an electron - it’s like she can leap and be in two places at the same time. I, on the other hand, am not. I suspect I’m a neutron. As an homage to olderbynow on her birthday, I wanted to write Awkward Phryne (as she so wonderfully does Awkward Jack, and Awkward Phryne too, although not as often) and try to inhabit some of her wonderful witty writing style. I didn’t succeed, alas, but at least you can now see a neutron slightly tragically attempt to masquerade as an electron, and maybe that can amuse someone. 
> 
> This is wishing the lovely electron a happy happy birthday!

This is not going the way she had intended, at all. And that is so rare an experience that Phryne Fisher, standing at the docks in Southampton, is having difficulties processing exactly what is happening.

Phryne Fisher is always the cool and composed one in any setting, and once – just once – since arriving in England has she been anywhere close to breaking down. It didn’t even have to do with her father (which she ought to get a medal for, dealing with a reprobate father who has gotten progressively worse since landing in England – how has she not yet received a royal order from the King?) 

Phryne is not prone to weakness, and has even imagined that after finding Janey there would be no more reasons for that sort of thing. And then she found herself near tears in the middle of a party, in the middle of a dance floor, all from the realisation that she (she! Phryne Fisher!) wouldn’t bring the best-looking man at the party home with her, and that it wasn’t due to lack of interest from his side. She just didn’t find the smallest wish in her body to do it, and it was so surprising she had rushed to the bathroom and then found herself rambling about the revelation in front of a kind-looking woman she would luckily never meet again. 

It had been starting in front to the sinks, an incoherent blubbering about a man she probably loved against her will and didn’t know what to do about, and she had received kindness and a slightly perplexed look from a complete stranger. 

And now that woman, who had actually patted her arm and said “there there” to her a fortnight ago, is standing in front of her, kissing Jack Robinson on the cheek.

Kissing Jack at the port in Southampton, in broad daylight, when he has set foot on land just minutes ago and when Phryne, after having made her way through the crowd, has just been about to step forward from the shade of a big container to greet him with a smile full of promises. 

Desperately, Phryne tries to remember what she had said that night. 

_Had she said she didn’t want to feel about him the way she did?_

_Had she said she wished she could bring home her young dance partner and ravage him senseless?_

_Had she possibly been in a melodramatic mood and implied she feared she would be the ruin of an honourable man?_

She considers the very tempting idea of turning around and leaving.

But she has already waved at him, perhaps even a tiny bit frantically while he was on the deck of that approaching boat, and he had seen her – or how else would that broad smile that slowly bloomed across his face, prominent enough that she could see it from such a distance, be explained? It would be pretty damn pointless, really, to try to pretend she was never there.

So obviously this is happening.

Phryne Fisher has the heart of a lion and the apprehension of a meerkat and so she takes a deep breath and lifts her head high as she pushes her way through to Jack’s side and makes herself noticed. 

“Miss Fisher!” he says as he sees her, and his voice is deep and happily incredulous, and the smile in his eyes is so intense that it hurts. 

“Oh, is that your mysterious friend…” Phryne hears his companion say as she turns around, almost instantly recognising Phryne. The woman goes stiff and quiet, her mouth turning into a little ‘o’.

“Hello, Inspector,” Phryne says, not at all as delightedly as she had wanted or planned to say it. 

All her ideas about how sweet their reunion would be evaporates in the air so forcefully she can hear them go ‘pop’, like shining soap bubbles do when they are floating away on the breeze, just leaving a little bit of soap to sprinkle down on the ground. But there has been so many dreams and imagined variations, so the ‘pops’ go on for quite some time (the way his hands would feel when he embraced her and pressed her to him, _pop_ , the feel of his kiss still tasting slightly of the salt water he has conquered to come to her, _pop_ , the way he would whisper _Phryne_ in her ear, _pop pop pop_ ) before she again pays attention to the situation and the two people in front of her. 

Jack clearly doesn’t understand what is happening and why she is standing there rather stiffly and just a bit too far away. She can see the glint of a humorous question in his eyes, and she would bet good money that it is masking a more serious question about whether he has been a fool to come at all.

Just as Phryne takes a step forward a young man with a dazzling smile recognises her and shouts her name. He comes and kisses her on both cheeks and chats with her about… she has no idea about what but she wastes minutes on painfully empty pleasantries before she can farewell him and again turn her attention back to a man she now thinks has a rather fond smile on his face (but of course that might be because that’s the way she has imagined him for weeks now). 

Phryne takes a few steps forward and rises on her toes so she can give him a peck on the cheek, and it’s so far from her imaginings she almost wants to cry, but even from that innocent gesture she can hear him inhale and she flicks her eyes swiftly over his face to try to read his expression before she stands down again. 

There is nothing like taking command of the situation, is obviously Phryne’s motto, and so she turns to the woman and holds out her hand.

“I’m The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher,” she says, much more composedly than she feels.

Shaken into action by the sheer normalcy of Phryne’s line, Jack finds his voice.

“And this is my second cousin, Mrs Mary Johnson,” he says, and they shake hands in an almost cordial way. 

“Second cousin,” she exclaims in slight horror. “How nice!” 

She feels utterly ridiculous but she would rather wear clogs for the rest of her life than let that show, and Mary becomes less stiff and produces perhaps a hint of a smile, not dissimilar to her cousin’s downplayed expressions.

“It is lovely to meet you, Miss Fisher,” she says.

Well, it was polite, at least, surely that is a good sign?

(Isn’t it?)

So, now what? 

Phryne is all for grasping every nettle that might come her way, and so she smiles her most charming, unconcerned smile as she turns to Jack with large, innocent eyes.

“We’ve actually already met. Fancy that!”

“That is a coincidence, Miss Fisher. Though nothing you do surprises me,” Jack says, looking between the two women. 

And then he says the last words Phryne would have ever predicted to come out of his mouth:

“Mary has been kind enough to let me stay with her while I’m here in London.” 

He turns to his cousin as he continues: “I have letters and gifts to you from the family in Australia. They were ever so pleased that we would meet.”

What is this? Is this a joke? 

Phryne looks between the two of them and feels her eyebrow arch even as she tries to stop it. Is Jack going to spend his time in England with a relative and not with her? (And even worse, with a relative that has seen a side of Phryne that probably makes her think she is not an appropriate woman for her next-of-kin?) 

Phryne feels a tinge of panic and realises even before she speaks that her voice will do that thing where it rises an octave at the end and she can’t stop that:

“You’re not staying with me?”

Jack looks surprised, as if this is the first time he even thinks of the possibility.

“I... uh… I… was planning to seek you out and pay you a visit as soon as possible, Miss Fisher.”

_Pay her a visit?_

He doesn’t sound as if they’re on the verge of something enormous and he doesn’t sound like he’s just done the most insane thing in his life by following her, and she can’t tell if he behind his composed surface is remorseful about not thinking about staying with her or incredulous that she can even think that would be a possible alternative.

“So the fact that you were vague about when you’d arrive,” Phryne says, ever the detective and her brain working in full speed because goddamn she hates being put on the spot, “was not because you wanted to test my detective abilities, but because you actually didn’t expect me to come and meet you?”

Jack just swallows and makes one of his tiny nods, and usually Phryne finds that one of his most endearing gestures but now she just wants to shake him and call him a fool and kiss him so hard he can barely breathe (and this might be one of the lingering daydreams that she has decidedly _not_ indulged in while in England, well, maybe once or twice, but seriously, one would think a city like London would have fewer dull moments and if her mind had strayed towards Melbourne that just proved London needed to step up its game). 

Leave it to Jack Robinson to manage to travel halfway around the world just to _not_ come after her after all! How was it possible to turn a perfectly lovely romantic overture into something as unromantic as this (and can someone please note down that in this observation she is even counting that time he compared her to a telescope?)

“Excuse me for a moment,” Mary says apologetically, “I promised mother to check the time tables for her. I will be right back.” 

“Jack,” Phryne says as soon as they are left alone, but at the same time he says “Phryne,” and they both go silent. 

(Because obviously there is no way to keep on talking once you’ve interrupted each other at an early stage. Basic conversation rule.)

“I...” he tries, making a vague gesture towards what she imagines might mean “England,” but the words catch in his throat. She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and wonders where this lost-for-words-Phryne came from, as she’s never really met her before. 

They stand there, just gazing into each other’s eyes and there is quite some time before they surface back to reality, which proves to consist of one lively port and one forgotten second cousin politely waiting for them to take notice of her again.

Phryne manages to evolve into talking Phryne and smiles at Mary.

“I hope that when the Inspector has settled in, you will both come for tea. It would be lovely to see you in a more private setting.” 

“Thank you, Miss Fisher, that would be lovely,” Mary answers and turns to Jack. “All is settled with the delivery of your luggage, so I suggest I take you home now. The children will be delighted – I have four of them.” The last bit she adds as an aside to Phryne.

As much as Phryne feels robbed of her sweet reunion, she cannot help but snort at the idea of Jack spending his time in such a full and messy house when he could have been with her. She can see that the thought has hit him too.

“I see you need to get home, then. Good bye, Mrs Johnson, Jack,” she says, nodding to them, all innocent eyes as she turns to walk to her own vehicle.

Phryne drives back to London and there is a slight possibility that she imagines a man at her side that would be scandalised by her driving. There is a rather divine luncheon she had intended to share with this man, but tucks into alone. (She knows the chef and has a fabulous time anyway. Well, maybe not fabulous, but she can have a meal without a man, really, so where exactly is the harm in losing Jack to his family? 

_Not entirely convincing, Miss Fisher_ ). 

Some hours later, she arrives home. 

“There was a delivery made,” Mr Shore the butler announces when she steps in, and she turns to see several unfamiliar suitcases standing in the parlour.

“Delivery?” she asks.

“There is a note, Miss.” Mr Shore hands it over and leaves her with a bow.

Phryne is bemused and turns the envelope around in her hands. She doesn’t recognise the handwriting. A letter and suitcases? She opens the note:

_"If you don't give him a push every now and again I suspect he might stay in one spot forever. I’ll send him after his mistakenly delivered luggage. Would love to come for tea some other time. Mary"_

Phryne laughs out loud at the ingenuity of his cousin, and the way she must have left them at the docks only to arrange for this mishap. This is a woman she would like to get to know better.

As she reads the note a second and a third time, there is a knock at the door that is unmistakeably a policeman’s knock, and she can hear it has a slight Australian accent. Her mind is flooded with images she thought she’d lost, images of the way his hands would feel in her hair as he pulled her to him, the way he would taste after having drunk her whiskey, and the way he would whisper _Phryne_ in her ear as she slowly undressed him.

If the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher rushes to the door in a slightly undignified manner there is definitely no one there who can tell on her, and it probably just gives her complexion a perfect rosy hue for the man at the door to drink in when she opens it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Fire_Sign for pre-reading!


End file.
